The Hargreaves Fairytale
by CharismaHarmony
Summary: Set in the Victorian Era, would Cain grasp his one chance of happiness or would he lose her to his brother? Cain x OC
1. Prologue

**The Hargreaves Fairytale**

Author's Note: This is indeed an attempt to set the pace of Neo-Gothic Revival in Victorian England. I have no expertise in England's historic culture, so I would probably make up my own stuff to contribute.

Based on: Godchild by Kaori (though major changes are made)

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The Victorian Era is a time of many contradictions. The apparent contradiction was between the widespread cultivation of an outward appearance of dignity and restraint and the prevalence of social phenomena that included prostitution and child labour were two sides of the same coin: various social reform movements and high principles arose from attempts to improve the harsh conditions. Many notable appearances of humanitarian figures such as the Heart family, the Whittake's and the betterside of merchant immigrants are helping to turn the state around. However, with huge differences in social strata, social crimes were bound to happen. And to keep peace, the Scotland Yard was established.

There was a rumour going on that Cain Hargreaves, Earl of Orford invites misfortune, or most troubling, death. "Death follows him everywhere he goes." Lola Heart picked up a stray sentence from two middle-class wives as she walked passed them. She shook her head to clear her mind off gossips. Surely it is merely a rumour. Cain Hargreaves is the one man who successfully solved the case of Jack the Ripper. Though the newspapers say he's still at large, family connections told her otherwise; and Lola has reason to believe this piece of information as her grandfather is the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard. From what her grandfather said, the Earl of Orford has a wide knowledge of various fields, really. A very learned and cautious person, truly an asset to the Yard.

Shaking her crown of brunet locks, her pitter-patter of hurried footsteps led her to a tall atramentous iron gate. The glazed coutyard with its own sleeping willow over a still lake; a black swan glided; The tall, imposing gothic brick architecture lined with thick patterned vines, showcasing its authenticity and regency times.

Lola took a deep breath, reached in to procure a handwritten note. Her gloved hand was crinkling the note, but it helped calm her considerably. She had not seen Sir John Wayne for quite a while, and she felt guilty and decided to drop by for a visit.

Pushing the wrought-iron gate open, she went in with conviction and whether or not she came out alive is another thing.

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	2. Chapter 1

**The Hargreaves Fairytale**

**A/N: I'm really enjoying writing this fic. So, updates will be rather frequent. I'm having exams now, so after exams, I'll strive to finish this and my other fics. This Godchild fic is for my sweet, adorable English boyfriend. I'm sorry I can't make it for your birthday, so this is for you (and also for myself, haha, cuz I like writing this). Thank you for reviewing, dear Seleneikuza!

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Chapter 1

"Chase butterflies with me, Lola!" Mary Weather relished the feeling of freedom in the vast green courtyard of Hargreaves Property. The flying of bright gold and a stark contrast of heavy brunet locks mingled on the field of green applesauce; the breeze was light and cool, the sun offer little warmth, but it is expected in late 18-century British weather.

"Sir? Would you like some shortbread?" Riff, his butler and closest friend addressed Lord Cain in the highest manner.

"I'm fine with my book, Riff."

Riff bowed and replaced the checkered cloth over the weaved pannier and sat on his knees. The Master was studying his book, or rather case studies of the effects of poisons on various anatomies. Though Riff could see his Master reading his book intently, his gaze however, strayed from chemical properties to the lovely Miss Lola Heart who was now pushing Mistress Mary Weather on the swing that was fastened not too long ago.

Riff saw softness and detected a change in his Master's behaviour since Lola began to visit regularly by the request of Little Mistress. Such playful and well-intentioned actions had seemingly worked out for the better as the solitary figure of the Earl of Orford had shown interest a hint of genuine smile and everyone noticed that deaths that occur whenever Lord Cain was around had lessened, because Lola was able to save the victims, and he brought justice at the end.

_Perhaps my Master had found someone far more suitable than he would've ever thought._

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**I know it's a bit short, but it gets better. x**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Lola's Kind Heart

_Cain_

Little London was clearly no pagan of paradise, neither were we consciously of showing tolerance. It was just the way of it. We certainly committed our share of statutory crime: man-slaughter, arson, robbery, rape cropped up regularly throughout the years. Quiet incest flourished where the roads were bad; some found comfort in beasts; and there were the unusual friendship between men and boys who walked through the field like lovers. Drink, animality, and rustic boredom were responsible for the most. The London society neither approved nor disapproved, but neither did it complain to authority. Sometimes our sinners were given hell, taunted, and pilloried, but their crimes were absorbed in the local scene and their punishment confined to the parish. However, with the existing law of child labour, the minority of them decided on that course of step first.

The looming large, sharp death-taste, tooth-edge of violence, the yielding to the water of that despairing beauty, the indignant blood in the snow... London, in fact, was like a deep-running cave still linked to its antic past, a cave whose shadows were cluttered by spirits and by laws still vaguely ancestral. This cave that we inhabited looked backwards through chambers that led to our ghostly beginnings; and had not, as yet, been tidied up, or scrubbed clean by electric light, but it had been subordinised by a Victorian church and papered by music theatres.

There were ghosts everywhere... in the rocks, trees, grass, and the walls, and each pebble on the road and several. Happen to walked by a Cotswold-built Town Hall, a spruce of revisited tang radiated from the manicured square windows. From the harbour mouth of the scullery door, I leaned on it. Mothers and Sisters sailed past me like galleons in their busy dresses. The scullery was water, where the old pump stood. Bubble bubble, toil and grumble, rinsing and slapping of sheets and shirts, and panting women rowing their red arms like oars in the steaming waves. Then the linen came up on a stick out of the pot, like pastry, or woven suds, or sheets of moulded snow.

Here, too, was the scrubbing of floors and boots, of arms and necks, of red and white vegetables. Walk in to the morning disorder of this room and all the garden was laid out dripping on the table. Chopped carrot like copper pennies, radishes and chives, potatoes dipped and stripped clean from their coats of mud, the snapping of tight-pen pods, long shells of green pearls, and the tearing of glutinous beans from their nests of wool. Amongst them all, my greenish-gold eyes caught the bobbing white ribbon on familiar raven hair.

Lola was steadily in stealth of manuovering in this crowded kitchen, asking for help from some restless children, some shy, some eager, one nibbled one's way like a rat through roots and leaves. But all under the act of child labour. She beat away the flour with powdered hands, checked the seasoning of the soup and later marauded all preparations with the help of older women.

Large meals were prepared in this room, cauldrons of stew for the insatiate hunger of almost a hundred people. Stews of all that grew on these rich banks, flavoured with sage, coloured with Oxo, and laced with a few bones of a wide variety of meat. There was, it is true, little meat at those times; sometimes a pound of bare ribs for boiling, or an occasional rabbit dumped at the door by a neighbour. But today's dinner was different, crusts of every lamb, cow, chicken, rabbit... were brought and cooked; green food of great weight in season, and lentils and bread for ballast - loaves and loaves came into the house, and they never grew dry.

Observing what the Hearts and Whittakes and many kind-hearted others were doing, I felt surprise and understanding pounded gently in my heart. Someone offered me a chocolate, and the heavenly taste of creamy quality only form the very Whittake Chocolate best and most beautiful of all, it came from the delicate hands of my pride - Lola Angel Heart.


	4. Chapter 3

**Thank you for your reviews, favs and alerts. :3 You guys make me so happy :D**

**And I do tend to switch narratives, but it's always indicated by who, e.g. Cain's name will be on top of the chapter after the chapter title to indicate his narrative. And in this chapter, it's no one's point of view, 'cept the author's (mine).**

**Also... the chapters seemed fragmented because I made them so, to show you relevant scenes. It will be more continuous after this. Happy reading:D

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Chapter 3: Heartbreak

"Has it been said?"

"It has been said."

"What has?"

He didn't look into her eyes. He couldn't.

"It has been said that tragedy purifies the affections by terror and pity. That is, it substitutes imaginary sympathy for mere selfishness. It gives us a high and permanent interest, beyond ourselves, in humanity as such. It raises the great, the remote, and the possible to an equality with the real, the little and the near. It makes a man a partaker with his kind. It subdues and softens the stubbornness of his will. It teaches him that there are and have been others like himself, by showing him as in a glass what they have felt, thought, and done."

He forced himself to look into her eyes.

"It opens the chambers of the human heart."

Her heart thundering against her ribcage: it was for him to receive or discard.

"My life is a tragedy and I will not make others suffer for my tragic fate." He had sent Mary Weather away to France and Riff with her to recuperate from another "attack" from avenging souls and criminality. Mary was almost strangled to death; Riff was almost beaten to death… Cain knew Lola would be next; his blood had instinct. He knows how to answer her.

"I do not love you. You were just convenient, a passing subject, a bore now, to me." With every word he uttered, he disclaims it with his heart. His deliberance of slow deliverance of that smarting sentence was purposed for effect. Yet, he could not be prepared for what transpired in front of him.

Lola was clutching, no, almost tearing the fabric of her front dress. Closed with a fist, shadows on her face, a gripping tension. Her shallow breath heard through every silent corner. Every ominous moment of drawn stillness, ticked breathlessly away in the chilled atmosphere; there was a pounding drawl of a grandfather's pendulum swinging side to side.

He kept his steely gaze, unwavering, unmerciful.

But she never looked up. Bowing her head low, she mustered all her composure.

"Thank you, Lord Hargreaves, for your honesty. It is a most appreciated virtue. I beg pardon for my abrupt leave, but I must go to mend the bad."

A complexion of pallor, she left, closing the door with a final click.

Cain dropped to the floor onto his knees. He had shewn and combined the knowledge of the power of inflicting torture and of suffering; he convulsed in movements of uncontrollable agony and let loose a tumult of rage and despair.

_I curse you to a life of solitude and despair. Let no remorse or pity or peace enter your life, for your keenest sense of woe is death. Let be._

That was the curse on him. The curse set down by his father.

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End file.
